


Other Uses for a Lawn Chair

by Cards_Slash



Series: Arabian Stallions [7]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Cousin Incest, M/M, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Desmond helps weed the flower beds and is rewarded richly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Other Uses for a Lawn Chair

“So,” Desmond had said between arriving at his house to do yard work (to pay for the many times Altair had been coerced into ‘stocking the bar’) and stripping off his sweat soaked shirt while he collapsed into the big swing in the back yard with a beer. “At the risk of ending up looking like Ezio, are you really dating a…professional sex person?” The thing about Desmond was that he was entirely inoffensive. He had sailed through life being known as likable-but-dumb and nobody had ever taken the time to notice him or remember him and it was how he liked it because he got away with anything. 

“Yes,” Altair said.

“Did you really order him online?” Desmond asked.

Altair was holding a hoe at the time and Desmond still managed to look innocent and harmless. He wasn’t afraid of Altair the way Ezio was because Desmond had never-pissed-him off past the point of his patience. (But he was getting close.) “Is this somehow relevant?” Altair asked.

“I think the scar on Ezio’s face makes it relevant. Look man, I don’t give a flying fuck what you do in the bedroom as long as everyone’s legal and loving it. But, come _on_. You have been the straightest, most boring, most rigidly conservative person I have ever known ever since Adha glanced your direction. That was before she finally gave in and started dating you. Either you were brainwashed for the past decade or—I’m not sure what the alternative is.”

“I sucked your dick once,” Altair said. Because conversations about his sex life merited a mention of that one-time-when-they-were drunk (or the many times they weren’t). Maybe he just wanted Desmond to go all red in the face with embarrassment because he felt a pleased stab of vicious pride when it happened. “Leave her out of this conversation because she has nothing to do with it.”

“Are you happy?” Desmond asked.

“Yes,” Altair said. “But I’d be more happy if actually do something about the weeds that have taken over the flower beds.”

“Did you fuck him and his brother at the same time?” Desmond asked.

“I’m going to hit you with this,” Altair said and shook the hoe in his direction. 

“Come on, just tell me. You know Ezio can’t tell a single fucking story without adding a hundred little exaggerations. I’m dying to know if it’s true.” Desmond even stuck his lip out at him, looking every bit as much like the baby cousin that followed after them with a snot nose until he finally got big enough to keep up. 

“Yes,” Altair said.

“Damn,” Desmond said. He looked paradoxically proud and morally offended. “You are so gay.”

“And you are still not pulling weeds out of the fucking flower bed.”

\--

Desmond was shirtless and lounging in the swing. Altair was shirtless and sprawled out in the oversized lawn lounge chair that his ex-wife had insisted be bought and placed in this one perfect space in the back yard. (At the time her insistence had been comical but tolerable if someone neurotic and unnecessary but now that he was lying in the perfect combination of sun and shade he had to admit she was right.) One of his neighbors was listening to smooth jazz while they prepared to host some sort of twilight barbecue and another was trying to drag her children back into the house while the protested.

The back door opened abruptly (perhaps mostly because he had not expected there to be anyone inside his house left to open it) and Desmond looked over at it lazily while Altair jumped hard enough at the shock to spill his beer on himself. “Why are you out here?” Malik asked. His tone was all hard-and-accusing, he was wearing his comfortable after-sex clothes, his hair was freshly-washed and flat against the top of his head. The combination of these three things meant nothing but trouble similar to the puddle of beer currently soaking itself into his pants. “Hi Desmond,” Malik bothered to say.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Altair said. He lifted himself out of the chair. “We were pulling weeds.”

“You look like you were working very hard.” Malik was giving him a look like insulting his intelligence when he noticed the large wet stain on the front of his pants that had soaked through to his underpants and had them wet-cold-and-sticking to him. “I thought you were going to do the weeding tomorrow.”

“I was, but you told me that you hated gardening and Desmond owes me so I made him help. He could only come today.” Altair moved around Malik and leaned away from the back door to tell Desmond he had to change his pants and invite him inside. Malik followed at his heels into the kitchen and closed the door behind them effectively negating whatever invitation Altair had just offered. “I’m going to change my pants,” Altair said.

“That does seem like the wisest course of action.” Malik did not immediately follow him either. He stayed in the kitchen searching through his cabinets and the fridge. It was annoying-at-best but the man had done half of the grocery shopping for his house for the past four months so Altair couldn’t even justify being annoyed by it.

When he got to his room he was sticky and damp and angry so he took a shower. It washed the beer and sweat away but left him with a sense of perfectly-clean anger. There were no towels in the closet in the bathroom which meant he’d left them in the laundry room (again) and he was all set to curse about his own stupidity and use one of his shirts to dry himself off but when he stepped out into his room naked, Malik was sitting at the end of the bed with a towel across his lap.

Altair held his hand out for the towel and Malik threw it at him. “I thought men didn’t PMS,” Altair said. He had to stoop to pick the towel up and pointedly ignored the angry expression on his boyfriend’s face as he dried himself off. He dug through his drawers for a pair of underwear and some pants. When he turned back around Malik was still sitting at the end of the bed glaring at him. “I’d say bad day at work but you usually show up eating Mentos by the pound when that happens. So—something Kadar did?”

“First, you’re an ass. I don’t have to be a woman to tell you that equating anger with PMS is an asshole thing to do. My day at work was fine, thank you. I painted someone’s toenails and told them how pretty they were.”

“You were an ass first,” Altair said. He finished pulling his pants on and weighted the merit of a shirt. It had been hot and sticky before but Desmond had either made a quick exit or was sitting downstairs waiting on the food Altair promised he’d provide for them. “What did Kadar do?”

“I don’t want to talk about that stupid fuck right now,” Malik said. But the anger was still clearly set in his shoulders and tightening up in his chest because even if his voice sounded perfectly-reasonable his hands were held in fists. “I didn’t realize Desmond was here or I wouldn’t have interrupted.”

“You’re welcome to join. I am going to make burgers and watch some movie he has been insisting I should see.” He pulled one of his old college shirts on and Malik eyed it with something between contempt and amusement that came out looking just generally angry. Altair moved close enough that Malik’s outstretched hand could sneak under the shirt to his skin. He rubbed his fingers through Malik’s wet hair and rubbed at his stiff shoulders. “Forget whatever your brother did, come hang out with my cousin and me.”

\--

After dinner and the disaster of a movie that Desmond was convinced was absolutely-awesome, they found their way back outside with a fresh six pack of beer and the necessary few citronella candles. Malik took the oversized lawn chair with the overstuffed cushions, Altair shoved Malik until there was space for him as well, and Desmond fell back into the swing he’d taken up earlier with his legs sprawled open.

The neighbors were still talking-lowly at their after-dark barbecue but the rest of the noise had faded away into nothing. It was only the sound of Desmond babbling about the bar and drinks and this woman that he kind of liked but hadn’t asked out yet and Malik humming along in general agreement. Altair interjected when he thought he was supposed to but mostly dozed and sipped his beer and enjoyed the peace.

“Are you asleep too?” Malik whispered in his ear an indefinable amount of time later. The sky seemed darker and the neighbors were calling good bye to their friends in between arguing about if they meant to clean up the mess tonight or tomorrow morning. Somewhere a chorus of bugs were singing sweet love songs and not so far away Desmond had slouched down into the swing and was snoring with his mouth open.

“No, I’m awake,” Altair mumbled. (He was no such thing.) Malik was warm and solid against his back. They had maneuvered around while Desmond-talked and ended up with Malik leaning back into the permanent recline of the seat and Altair laying against his chest. (His back would not be so thrilled with his decisions in the morning but now he felt comfortable.) Malik’s hands were on his chest, under the warm-cotton of his shirt, drawing nonsense circles that made him shiver up goose bumps. 

“Are you?” Malik said. His voice had that low-toned ominous ring to it. Just the sound of it made Altair’s breath get heavy in his throat and his dick start to plump up in anticipation of the wonderfully dirty things to come. “That’s a shame.” He pinched one of Altair’s nipples and grinned against the back of his head when Altair arched up against the touch. “I miss your body,” Malik said softly, “sometimes it drives me mad how much I miss being able to touch you.” His hand was moving down now, out from under his shirt and over the soft-stretch of his pants to cup around Altair’s hardening dick. “I think about you when I can’t touch you, I try to figure out what I want to do next, how I’m going to touch you. There are a thousand ways I haven’t had the chance to touch you yet and I want to find each-and-every one of them.”

“Quietly,” Altair whispered. The neighbors had settled on picking up trash and Desmond was snorting in his sleep across the distance. 

Malik nipped at the back of his ear as he worked his hand in through the loose button on the front of his pants. His hands were cool like the after-dark air but Altair’s skin was hot. They were both groaning with stifled breath as Malik wrapped his hand around Altair’s dick. “I’m not the loud one,” Malik said.

“You can be,” Altair said. He licked his lips and tipped his body back so he could drag Malik into an awkward-inverted kiss. Malik-groaned-or-he-groaned or they were both licking moans into each other’s mouth as Malik slid his hand down to cup his balls. There was a light-tight noise like a snore cut off that was desperately loud over the much-closer sound of Malik’s breathing and the neighbors just beyond the fence that were still jostling bags and beer cans. Altair pulled away to look over at Desmond and saw him rubbing as his face and shifting his body so there was no awkward curve to his spine. Altair grabbed Malik’s wrist and Malik’s lazy-strokes turned rough and serious for a matter of seconds that made his heart drop straight out of his chest. 

“I can’t figure out,” Malik was saying just behind his ear, “if you’re turned on by getting caught or terrified.” He pulled his hand free from Altair’s pants long enough to catch his hand and push it through the now gaping-open front. It was his-fingers-Malik’s-fingers that touched his dick and the sudden heat of it took him almost by surprise. “You’re so fucking hard right now,” Malik said.

Desmond let out a renewed snore with his arm across his face and his body half-turned away from them. But the neighbors had paused in their cleaning when they discovered a lost something that was left behind. 

There was sweat in Altair’s hair, dripping down the side of his face that couldn’t-have-been accounted for by the heat. Malik was kissing his neck, pushing his free hand back up under Altair’s shirt to stroke at his chest while he moved their-two-hands up-down Altair’s aching dick. He should have moved because the whole thing was ridiculous—biting his lips and curling his free hand around the edge of the chair to muffle the noises that were-or-weren’t moans of appreciation for something so simple and unexciting as a dry-hand-job. But Malik’s hands on his skin was the only thing he could feel besides the wild beating of his heart. 

“Keep breathing,” Malik said oh-so-sweetly behind him. His arm moved to wrap around Altair’s waist, to pull him up so he was spread across Malik’s lap where he could feel the other man’s insistently hard dick. “I love how you wriggle.” 

Altair pulled his hand free, put both of them on the wide wooden arms of the chair and dug into them so tightly his knuckles must have blanched at the effort. His breathing was a wheezy-whistle of effort as his head fell back and his body started rocking into the rhythm Malik’s loose grip on his dick made. 

Somewhere behind him, the neighbors were making a polite phone call (oh you forgot your watch, we’ll keep it until you can come by again) and somewhere in front of him, Desmond was making those dissatisfied little noises people made in their sleep. 

“Fuck,” Altair said so very quietly it felt like it had been grinded out through his teeth. He tugged at his pants, one side and then the other until they were low on his hips, so he could feel the raw scrape of Malik’s zipper-and-pants button drag on the skin of his ass. Malik wasted little time undoing his pants and pulling his dick free. It pressed against him with a sticky-wet smear, slid up against his back until Malik pulled him up and them pushed him down again so the welcome-heat-and-hardness of Malik’s dick was moving between his ass cheeks, teasing at his hole and bumping against his balls in counterpoint to the hand that had gone still on his dick. Altair was looking-at-Desmond as he moved in his sleep, but both of his hands were on the arm of the chair as he started rocking his hips back and forth, grinding his ass back against Malik’s dick. 

“What will you do if he wakes up?” Malik asked (in Arabic, so sweaty-and-sultry-and-filthy). 

Altair rolled his head back and went still because everything was starting to get spinning in his head and his balls were tight and his dick as throbbing and nothing-made-as-much-sense as Malik’s dirty voice. He meant to tell Malik they had to move it inside because this was insane and they were more mature and better than this but he said, “fuck me,” in a voice he barely even recognized. “They don’t think I’m happy, they think you’re using me—he thinks I’m boring and conservative. Fuck me, he can wake up and _watch_.”

Malik’s rhythm faltered and his arm around Altair’s body tightened to pull him down and hold him there. Then he was pushing at Altair to make him move forward as he dug into his back pocket to his wallet. Altair turned sideways to watch him dig out a condom and a beaten little packet of lube. 

“You fucking Boy Scout,” Altair mumbled. Then he was pushing his pants farther down to his thighs and balancing his weight on his awkwardly spread legs while Malik slid the condom down his dick and spread the lube. His fingers were cool-and-sudden when they rubbed at his hole but Altair groaned anyway because it-had-been-days-and-days. 

When Malik put a hand on him it was steady-and-sure, guiding him back and down. The slide of his dick was a welcome discomfort, being stretched open and taken in his own fucking backyard did something to his better sense because he was sinking down with a needy little whine in his chest. Malik was stroking his shivering thighs, stroking his dick once-twice until Altair had taken him all in. He kicked his pants off, leaned his body back, put one arm around Malik’s shoulders and used his other hand to grab the arm of the chair to balance himself. He put his feet on the edges of the seat and lifted up only for Malik to pull him back down with a sudden-loud slap. 

Altair-laughed (because it was so loud, because the sound their bodies made together was ridiculous with people listening) and Malik nipped at his side. “Do it again,” Altair said. He lifted himself up and Malik pulled him right back, thrust his own hips up to meet him. “Keep doing that,” Altair said. So it went, he lifted up and Malik pulled down and they were fucking out in the open on the sturdy-lawn-chair his ex-wife had insisted-on-buying. There was sweat on his throat and sweat between his fingers and a cool-breeze against the insides of his quivering thighs. Malik’s hands were tight on his hips, pulling him back harder-and-faster every time and nobody was touching his dick but he was so fucking close to coming.

There was the sudden squeak of the swing as it was pushed back too far and Altair opened his eyes and looked across the narrow distance to where Desmond was sitting up and staring-at-them like he hadn’t figured-it-out yet. But his cheeks had gone all pink and one of his hands was rubbing at the crotch of his pants, stopping only when he saw Altair looking at him. (Oh but there had to be something wrong with him because the way Desmond was looking at him like he wasn't sure if he crossed some line made his whole body hyper aware from the clench of hands at his thighs to the bristle of raised hairs on the back of his arms to the sound of Malik’s harsh breathing as he got-so-close to coming.) Altair nodded his head and Desmond let out a noise like a harsh-little groan. Malik turned his head toward the sound and they were both watching as Desmond opened his pants and pulled his own hard dick out. 

“Make me come,” Altair said, “do it.” 

“Fuck,” Malik said. He pushed Altair forward with one hand between his shoulders. They were an awkward tumble of limbs until Altair got his elbows-and-knees under him. Malik was right at his back, sliding back in with one of his hands folded across Altair’s shoulder and the other reaching around to grip at his dick. They were graceless, fucking hungrily against one another with a chorus of half-muffled moans. 

Altair was-watching Desmond fucking his own fist so hard the swing started moving. Desmond was staring at him getting dicked with a singular intensity that made everything else seem distant-and-far-away (things like his dear Aunt who had trusted him once to look after her baby). “Come here,” Altair said. Because his body was getting hot-tight-desperate. Malik’s hand on his shoulder slid down his back and the angle of his thrusts changed just enough to keep Altair from coming. 

Desmond lurched forward, dick out and fist tight at the base. He must have seen-a-porn or two because he didn’t waste time standing around indecisively but walked right up to Altair’s flushed face. Malik went slow-and-steady behind him and Altair thought about telling him to stop fucking around but Desmond was right there and his dick slid into Altair’s mouth oh-so-easily. One of them gasped, one of them cursed and there were hands in Altair’s soaking-wet hair and hands on his back and a hand on his hip. Malik fucked into him and his body moved forward, Desmond’s dick went deeper and Altair groaned because it was like getting fucked from both ends. 

It was Malik’s mouth against his skin with feverish kisses at his shoulder and Malik’s voice low-and-worshipping. It was Desmond in a disbelieving gasp when Malik started fucking-him-again and every thrust knocked him forward. It was delicious-and-debauched-and-Altair was getting light headed, but the throbbing pulse in his body was too-fucking-much. He steadied himself on one hand and reached the other back to stroke his dick and it was once-and-almost-twice before he was coming so hard he went deaf for a matter of breaths.

He was sitting back against Malik’s body, body shaking-and-jerking and Desmond staring at them like he’d never seen anything like it. Malik was still buried in-him and Altair was clenching around him because his body had overloaded and it wouldn’t calm down. When Malik urged him, he folded forward, went all boneless and useless against the chair, easily agreeable to being rolled onto his back. Malik straddled his lap, pulled the condom off and jacked off fast-and-hard until he was coming against Altair’s belly. He was still breathing hard, still rocking against Altair’s overheated skin when he leaned down to kiss him. His filthy-hand was in Altair’s hair, stroking through it and down to his neck and his collarbone as he kissed him like sweet-lover’s sweet-love notes. 

Desmond made a noise somewhere just over their heads and Altair looked back up at him, saw him standing there jacking off furiously with a needy grunt and a pained twist to his face. “Finish what I started?” Altair said.

“The things I do for you,” Malik mumbled before he kissed him again. Then he motioned Desmond forward and sucked him off with professional efficiency, pulling back only when Desmond whined a warning. 

“Oh shit,” Desmond said when his come got all over the two of them, “I’m sorry.”

Altair snorted at that and Malik shook his head with a smile on his face. He rubbed his hand across the pearly-white spots on his dark skin and down in the mess of his own come on Altair’s belly and leaned forward to rub it on Desmond’s shirt. “Now everyone’s even,” he said.

\--

They went their separate ways under the pretense of showering. Altair would have been just as happy to find a horizontal surface and sleep—fuck the mess—but Malik was pristine, prissy and _insistent_. They were standing in his too-small shower, Malik’s washing him because he was blurry and half-asleep. His hands were useless palms against Malik. 

“Why are you mad at your brother?” he asked. (But it seemed like so long ago now.)

“He bleached my favorite shirts from college and they’re ruined,” Malik said. Then he whispered, “tip your head back” and Altair mumbled an apology for Kadar’s laundry incompetence.

\--

It was the next morning, in his kitchen before Altair’s brain caught up on current events (as it were). His body was well rested and perfectly relaxed, humming along as he went in search of food (a bowl of cereal, perhaps). Malik was still sleeping away his frustrations upstairs and that was for the best. But Desmond was sitting in his kitchen at the little round table with a bowl half full of the last of the Cookie Crunch cereal that Altair had been carefully hording. 

“Dude, that’s my cereal,” Altair said. He grabbed a bowl and opened the cabinet above the fridge to get the other box out before he got the milk. “There’s a rule about eating my cereal.”

Desmond looked skeptical about that. “Who are you hiding it from, you’re the only one that lives here?”

“Malik—well, usually Kadar. He’s short and gives up easily.” Altair sat down and made his cereal, picked at the newspaper that Desmond must have gone outside to fetch. It was Sunday-morning funny papers to read before he bothered with the rest of the unfortunate news of the day. 

For a moment, they ate in companionable silence. 

“So, I feel like we should talk about last night,” Desmond said.

“Your taste in movies suck,” Altair said. He was halfway through the comics when Desmond pulled them down out of the space between them and gave him a look that accused him of being _intentionally obtuse_. It wasn’t that he was trying to act nonchalant but that he’d gone off and forgotten to be horrified about sex (again). “Oh, right.”

“Oh right?” Desmond repeated, “you can’t just say ‘oh right’ after I woke up to—fucking and your boyfriend sucked my dick.” 

That was not at all where Altair thought this conversation was going. He was sure that it was going to involve a lot more finger pointing and maybe Bible pages and conventional disapproval of cousin-incest. “I know that he’s really not that great at it but you don’t have to be so offended by it.”

Desmond’s brain seemed to sort of short circuit at the words because he could not manage to break out of the silent disbelief that weighed at his slack open mouth and his wide-open eyes. 

“Sorry,” Altair said. “I’m sorry that we inflicted our sex life on you. It will not happen again. I’m not saying that you can’t tell Ezio but I am saying if you do and he comes to me acting like an enraged mother hen he’ll have another scar to match the first one.”

“Who are you?” Desmond said finally. But he wasn’t accusing, not angry, just shaking his head in awe as a strange kind of smile dawned on his face. “Also I am not stupid, I am not going to tell Ezio. I just, while I’m flattered that you included me in your debauchery, I’d rather not join in again.”

“I’ll scratch you off the threesome night invite list.” They lapsed back into quiet as Altair ate his cereal (kind of mushy now) and Desmond took the comics to read through them leaving him with the actual news portion of the newspaper. 

After a moment Desmond said, “but yeah, you are clearly better at head then him.”

Altair grinned into the disapproval frown of some politician type pictured under the main headline. “And, he’s the professional,” he said with a stupid grin.


End file.
